Dreams of Demons
by G.M. Stock
Summary: My very first 'fan' story, involving my own cast of characters. Set in Icewind Dale, Baldur Terralventhe seeks to rest a little between his wandering days in the Ten Towns. Little does he know, however, that forces seek to make it a short journey.
1. Introduction

**Introduction**

_An old tree sat upon the high mountains of Icewind Dale, the harsh and cold winds of the land ravaging it's naked branches. How it was still living, the tribe of barbarians, living nearby, did not know. Yet they looked upon it as a symbol of endurance and survival in the harsh and ruthless mountains. Some even went so far as to worship it, though their ideals were most certainly frowned upon by the Tempus-worshipping barbarians and the heretics were immediately put to the test of their religion of the tree's survival, being thrown out to die in the cold. Those few who were so foolish to admit to their worship found themselves cursing the tree as they slowly froze to death. Little did they know, however, that it was in fact these same curses that kept the tree alive. For this tree was Rakshe, the pit fiend in disguise. Hidden under such a powerful illusion that the illusion could only be dispelled by the daemon himself. ___

_Long ago, in days of old, Rakshe had led his horde of daemons against the humans when a wizard had opened a portal to the lower planes, allowing hordes upon hordes of daemons to attack a combined army of barbarians. Rakshe's horde had been slain, and he had escaped only barely, hiding himself by spending his final strength in creating an illusion around himself. The pit fiend fed his powers from hatred and death, and it was while war ravaged the battlefield still, that the daemon had enough strength to live. However, the portal had soon been closed. The battle had ended, and he had no strength to even dispel his own illusion. Rakshe was trapped, slowly dying in the freezing cold of the Dale. He had almost died, had it not been for the dying and hateful curses of the tribesmen that had died because of him. Their curses sustained him, kept him alive, though the curses alone were not enough to grant him enough power to free himself. And so Rakshe waited, biding his time and waiting, hoping, for a new battle in these lands. He would not wait long, daemons had exceptionally long lifespans, and a few hundred years would mean nothing to him. ___

_Another tribesman had come to him, looking upon him with spite and anger. The barbarian spat upon the base of the tree. Rakshe smiled wickedly within his illusion. Even if he waited, he enjoyed the death of the barbarian scum which had dealt him this misfortune._


	2. Chapter One: Adventurer's In the Dale

**Chapter One ****  
****Adventurers In The Dale**

"How much longer" The red imp whined, rustling his leathery bat-wings irritably and clinging to the shoulder of his companion, an elf with black, blue-lined, hair and crimson red eyes, who wore a mithril armor with a cloak. A pair of scimitars hung at his sides, along with a crystal chainwhip and a longsword at the back, hidden behind his cloak. Along the sides of his boots, he had eight long daggers strapped, four per boot. A small backpack was attached to his belt, with several pouches with different items in them. "I hate this coooold" The imp continued to whine."Then get back into the backpack, Xanerth." The elf replied, cracking a small grin along his usually stern face. "Otherwise, just stop whining about it."  
"Bah! Back in that smelly thing" Xanerth frowned, holding his nose and making a most sickened impression. "It's all smelly and rotted"  
The elf couldn't help but laugh now"Then it seems like the sort of place you'd love, imp, wouldn't it" He replied coyly. This was, actually, a true statement, for Xanerth loved nothing more than making a mess of places. Reminded of his messy habits and love for rotten things, the imp didn't reply, but instead hurried back into the warmth of the backpack.

"You'll be spending weeks cleaning that thing out by the time he's through." The elf heard from shortly behind him. The elf, knowing the voice, turned to face his other companion, a female who was a little shorter than himself, with lavender hair, wearing leather-clothing and a pair of long daggers at her sides. Her most striking feature, however, was a tail coming out from her back, right above her bottom. "Honestly, Baldur. If you expect me to stick around when you check what he's done down there, you can think again." She then remarked with a grin, which quickly turned into a shiver of cold. "He's right, though..it is cold."  
"I know..they don't call it Icewind Dale for nothing, you know, Shads." Baldur replied, before walking over to her and draping his dark-green cloak around her shoulders. The cloak was enchanted to protect the wearer from both the most intense natural fires and colds in all the planes. Baldur looked down at Shadette, into her lavender on black eyes. They seemed to glimmer whenever he looked into them, whether or not it was simply because he loved this woman so much, or if they did so naturally, he didn't really care. His gaze trailed down to her furry, lavender and white, tail, flicking softly back and forth. 

His gazing was quickly interrupted by a sharp pain to the chin, as Shads bit him playfully. "Don't stare." She chuckled. "It's rude."  
"You still didn't have to bite me." Baldur grinned at her. "You can't really blame me for wanting to stare at the most beautiful gem to ever come into existance, can you" He laughed softly, before pulling her close to him for a deep and loving kiss. As the kiss ended, Shadette licked the elf's chin teasingly.  
"No real harm done, right" She asked, bringing on a second laugh from her love, as well as a second kiss.  
"Oi" Came a sudden call from behind them, almost shattering the romance of the kiss. Luckilly, they had just ended it as they saw another elf running over the snow-covered hill behind them. He wore a pair of studded leather pants, with a pair of short swords strapped at the sides of two opposing belts. One might think he was mad, for other than the pants, he only had a clothed shirt that was cut to the shoulders, and a pair of tattered wings sewn into being a cloth. His left arm wore a leather-scale of shadows, while his right one was bare and a bracer around his wrist. He also had a tail, though it was nothing like Shadette's, being more than a little scaled and with a prick at the end.

"First ye be runnin' off ahead o' meh" The tiefling cried in outrage. "An' THEN ye star' akissin' an' asmoochin'! I swear it. Ye twae'd get busy anywhere, wouldn' ye"  
"Oh, come off it, Xein." Baldur chuckled, slipping his hands down to his love's bottom for a playful squeeze, drawing a scowl from his half-brother. "You're just jealous because we haven't stopped at any towns for you to work your charms on one of the local girls."   
"Bah! Bein' tha' as it may may, me brotherly frien'." The tiefling remarked as he walked down the hill slowly towards them. "We still donnae have any time ter be romancin' in the middle o' a frosted desert, do we, eh" The tiefling threw Baldur a somewhat triumphant look, knowing that Baldur would probably agree with his statement. His pride in the statement was lessened severely; however, as the snow gave way beneath Xeinfro's boots as he walked, the tiefling slipping and sliding down to the couple's feet with a frown that could cause a giant to flinch. The tiefling got up with a scowl and brushed off the snow from his tail and pants and then turned to the couple, who were trying their best not to laugh. Their mirth was quickly stolen away though, as a cold voice came from above them, in the cliffs.

"Well, aren't you three the lovely little travel group." Said the half-elven as he slowly stood up from his perch on a ledge, the wind blowing his long, flowing, onyx hair back in the wind, letting them get a good glimpse at his cold scarlet eyes. The vansylvan wore a type of robe, more common to the eastern lands of the Realms, and had a bushido sheathed at each of his sides, and a sword one sheathed right next to the one on his right. The elf grinned wide, letting his pair of fangs show, revealing his vampiric nature. "I must say, though we are to be travelling together, Baldur, you certainly make me feel like an outsider."  
"I do no such thing, Anyadel." Baldur mused to the elf. "If I remember correctly, it was you who rushed off ahead of all of us. Hunting, perchance" The elven ranger grinned wide as Anyadel narrowed his eyes with slight predatory glee at him. The vampiric elf then shrugged and leapt down from the high cliff, certainly a fall that would kill any other creature, and landed with ease beside them, barely leaving a mark in the snow.

"Alas, there is no prey in these frozen mountains, and I would never sink to the lowly station of feeding on a pathetic yeti, no matter how hungry I am for the taste of blood." The elf chuckled grimly, before turning to the cliffs ahead of them. "How much longer until we reach the Ten Towns" He asked.  
"A day, maybe two, if weather permits." Baldur replied, pulling his love closer to him as to ward off her coldness. She shivered a little, before nuzzling closer to him.  
"I daresay, I think it will not permit.." She commented, a little bitterly. She was unaccustomed to such harsh weather.  
"Aye..we'd be doin' good ter set up a camp somewhere close by, methinks." Xeinfro put in. "There shoul' be a cave or twae aroun' here, aye, Baldur"  
"Yeah, Xein..though I do not know whether or not they are already occupied, by yeti or some other beings." The ranger replied.  
"If there are, we shall simply have to teach them the appropriate manners in receiving guests." Anyadel said with grim glee. The vampire always had a liking to battles, and though he preferred strong foes over weaklings like the yeti and the creatures of the Dale, he was too bored to say no otherwise.

"So it's decided then" Shadette said, pulling her love's cloak around her a little more. "We'll find a cave and rest."   
"Sounds like a good plan." Baldur said, before looking at Shadette again and smiling. He undid his cloak and put it on her. "Here..you'll need it more than me out here."  
"Thanks, my love." She replied, feeling the protective spell of the cloak falling onto her. She felt warmer already. "But what about you? You can't be in this freezing cold like that."  
"No worries, darling." He replied, shrugging carefreely. "I'm used to the cold weather here." True enough, he thought to himself, as he also felt heat starting to spread through his body, out from his chest. He placed a hand on his chest, feeling the surging energies of the draconic orb he'd acquired on an adventure once. The dragon's orb gave him the ability to breathe fire like one of the red wyrms themselves, as well as granting him draconic claws at will. Apparently, the orb also protected him from the winter colds of the Dale as well. There seemed to be few things that the orb could not do, Baldur thought.

"Oi" Xeinfro's call came suddenly, interrupting the elf's thoughts. "Ye comin'? Or do ye wish ter stay in the cold cold an' die"   
Baldur looked about him, Shadette, Anyadel and Xeinfro had gone ahead of him. A sudden brush of wind against his face sent a chill down his spine. It wasn't the natural cold which had sent a chill down his spine though. It was that he somehow felt that the wind had been, in fact, wicked - cruel, even. He quickly brushed it off as his imagination, or possibly even his tainted lineage trying to grasp a hold of him again, and put it out of his mind. He quickly started to run after his companions, wanting to catch up quickly and get out of this foul weather. A storm seemed to be brewing, though he paid it no heed. Such things were common to the Dale.

Little did he know that an ominous, violet-eyed, gaze was upon him, watching him intently, and that the storm was not as common as he thought.


	3. Chapter Two: The Worth of One's Blood

**Chapter Two ****  
****The Worth of One's Blood**

The violet-eyed watcher narrowed his eyes as he saw Baldur and his companions pass by. He hated him so! The mere fact that this insult to the taint of Miêles; the same taint that ran through his veins, was still living both amazed and frustrated him beyond words. He could feel the urging from his black heart pulsing, begging him, and pleading for the chance to feast upon the ranger's blood. His clawed hand calmly petted his chest, soothing the hungry heart with the promise that the defilement of the taint would not live much longer. The watcher slowly moved between the cliffs and ledges, hiding in the shadows of the mountainous region. His time was drawing near. The watcher slowly climbed down the side of the cliff with ease, his claws, black with poison-tipped spikes along the sides, grasping onto the rock and snow and attaching itself there at his will. He wore but a simple cloth that was wrapped around his lower half and his legs, sewn into the fabric, with plated armor lined over the fabric, crossing over the knees and up his thighs where it attached to his belt. His upper half was tattooed with black and red markings and runes, enchanted to deflect the loathsome touch of divine weapons and spells. He wore a clothed mask that reached just a little over his face, concealing all but his violet eyes, grey hair and his distorted elf-like ears.

He climbed down the cliff, jumping down a few feet above ground and landed on his feet. His storm was growing stronger, giving him cover while he walked far behind the group, following their tracks in the snow. While he walked on, he noticed the grunts of yetis stalking behind him. He let out a low chuckle at the beasts' inability at stealth, even in such a blizzard. His heart being its urging again, starving for blood to feed upon, begging to strike fear into the feebleminded beasts. He couldn't refuse the idea of a little bloodshed just before finishing off Baldur. An appetizer, he thought to himself, before chuckling wickedly. His hands slid to his sides as he started to slow, allowing the yetis to catch up with him. He concentrated, fixing his elven ears on the sound of their motions through the blizzard. He could hear the slow sound of a fist passing through the wind, preparing for a slam that would probably knock him to the ground - if he were unaware, that is. The slow sound became a rush of wind as the fist came down. Just at that moment, his claw flashed upwards, the talons leaving a trail of black and red aura as it sliced through the yeti's arm flawlessly.

The yeti howled in pain as the wicked blade-like fingers burnt him with an unnatural cold during the cut. As the claw continued its motion away from the stump which was now the yetis arm, it seemed to be dragging the blood from the wound behind it, drawing it into itself. The yeti fell onto one knee, drained of its blood and injured on one arm. The wicked creature hummed with blooded glee as the yeti's blood swirled around its arm, it starting to glow a shimmering red. The yeti's fellow hunters quickly came at him in a blinded rage, seeing the damage done to their leader, the strongest of their group. The creature laughed wickedly as they came at him and raised his glowing arm tauntingly. They were but a few feet away, when he slashed at the open air, in a straight line from the right, the slash leaving a trail of blood-red energy in the shape of a crescent moon. The energy instantly flew from his fingertips as the slash ended, hurling itself at the yetis. It struck their flesh, burning through them and cutting through their bones cleanly. Once it had passed them by, the yetis simply stood their, awestruck, before their torsos slumped off them and rolled over in the snow, their legs still standing in the snow, before the wind blew them over to join the rest of their bodies. 

"Hmph.." He muttered beneath his mask, before dispelling the blood about his arm. "Weak-minded fools." He turned about; focusing his view through the storm as he tried to guess how much ground his prey had gained ahead of him. It would not matter, he quickly reminded himself. He could cover this ground fast, and the storm was his to manipulate to whatever means he wished. He smiled cruelly beneath his mask, knowing exactly how he'd handle the group. The girl and the tiefling would no doubt pose a minimal problem for him; he knew how to deal with them. But the other elf, he had never faced off with him in battle before. He hated complications of this kind, but at the same time he welcomed the idea of a challenge. He had to remind himself not to get carried away with the thrill of the fight though, that would cause problems. He couldn't afford to let his guard down, not around that insult to the bloodline of Miêles.

"That one..." He hissed to himself, narrowing his eyes with resent as he began to track the group. "That one is not worthy.. He'll never be worthy of the blood coursing through his veins." 

A little further ahead of the stalking watcher, the group was facing no troubles at all, other than the growing storm. Xein had fallen over several times, much to his own frustration and the group's entertainment. Their spirits were high for the most part, and the storm only held them back but a little. After some time, they had come upon the edge of a cliff, looking down over the snow-covered mountains below them. The area seemed deserted, but Baldur's keen ranger senses told him otherwise. There was life hiding behind the mountains of snow and beneath it. Anyadel's senses told him similar things, for he could see the outlines of creatures' bodyheat swelling up in similar places as Baldur had. They weren't worried though, for yetis were only a problem to the more inexperienced adventurers, and none of them were inexperienced by any standards. A rustle in Baldur's backpack turned his eyes from the mountains and to the imp, now climbing out half-sulkingly.

"Well" Xanerth demanded. "Are we there yet" The imp was shivering still and with a look of utter disgust at the freezing cold weather.   
"Does it look like we are, you silly imp" Baldur retorted, accustomed to the imp's ranting, but still impatient to get out of this storm. He somehow had to keep telling himself it was just a normal storm, but something deep down told him that there was more to this than just another blizzard.  
"Pfeh" The imp spat, scowling. "And you call yourself a ranger, eh? Well why don't you ranger us up a nice warm place to rest"   
"Ah pike it, imp" Xein chuckled, flicking his tail carefreely. "We're all jus' as anxious ter be gettin' inter the warm warmth of an inn. So ye can jus' be acalmin' down, aye"  
"Why doncha just shut your own face, you dwarf-speaking half-breed" The imp cackled wickedly, deciding that if he couldn't get out of the cold, he'd amuse himself by getting on the tiefling's nerves. Nothing was better than a little mischief, the imp thought to himself. 

"Wha" Xein stammered, amazed that the imp had even dared such an insult. "How dare ye, ye red-faced reject of the Abyss"  
"Pah! Better to be a reject from the Abyss than to talk like I'm a dwarf who's had one too many ales, not to mention walk like one too." Xanerth shot back, obviously entertained.  
"Why ye.." Xeinfro started, narrowing his eyes and his tail flicking back and forth dangerously. "Ye got a problem with me accen'? If so jus' say ye does"  
"Oh, I've got a problem alright, fiendling! It's the horrible half-bred stench that's clogging up my nose." Xanerth growled.  
"Oh aye? Ye sure 'tis not jus' tha' ye've been sniffing up yeti droppings right up tha' snotteh imp-nose of yers" Xeinfro retorted, extremely agitated. "Or perhaps ye just smelled yerself after a bath, aye"  
"Are you suggesting that I bathe" Xanerth shrieked in outrage, flying straight in front of Xein and flapping his wings furiously. "How dare you say such a thing"

Xeinfro grinned wide, having found the imp's weak spot, and then began sniffing the air a little and then narrowing his eyes at the imp. "Aye, methinks I be asmellin' perfume. The little imp's been dippin' inter soaps hasn't ye"  
"I did no such thing" The imp howled, flying back to Baldur's backpack, yelling behind his back as he flew. "You just shut your mouth, you crossbred mongrel"  
And with that, Xanerth was gone again. Snorting triumphantly, the tiefling looked to his fellow party members, all of which were looking at him with raised brows.  
"Wha'" Xeinfro shrugged. "He had i' comin'."  
"Whatever, Xein." Baldur replied, shaking his head. Something didn't feel right about this. It was as if something dark was at work in the region. He looked at his vampiric comrade. "Anyadel."  
"I know, Baldur." Anyadel replied, eyes fixing on a nearby snow pile as his predatory grin crept back onto his features, showing his sharp fangs in anticipation. "We're in for a little entertainment." 

As if on cue, the snow was thrown aside as a pack of yeti came charging out. For a moment, the ranger would have taken them for any other average yeti, until his keen eyes glimpsed at one of the yetis' faces – pitch black as if it had been melted into a bloody mass, and a marking on its forehead. He didn't have enough time to decipher the mark, however, as a yeti's fist came swooping down at him, the elf barely managing to duck from the attack. They seemed stronger and more focused for some reason, he noted. Growling low to himself, he leapt at the yeti, throwing his fist ahead of him as it connected with the beast's molten features. A sickening gurgle wheezed out of the yeti's face as his hand sunk into the almost tar-like flesh. The yeti was still alive nonetheless, flailing wildly – blinded by the fist in the face – as its massive fist connected with the elf's side, hurling him to the side. That alone left the elf with wary impressions, impressions that had to wait as the yeti came at him again.

The others were having similar problems, as Shads ducked to the side to dodge a yeti at ramming speed, her tanto flashing from its sheath, slashing across the beast's abdomen, the sharp blade rendering a gash all the way to the yeti's innards, which rolled out as a rotting, black mass. Amazingly enough, this didn't seem to phase the yeti in the slightest, as it swung about, the agile assassin only barely managing to pull her head back, confused by the yeti's apparent immunity to a lethal blow, and avoid having her head removed by the sheer force of the creature. Looking at the rotting innards, she recognized the blackened blood, so very akin to her own. Rolling to the side to avoid another heavy swing from the yeti, she cried out to warn her companions. "They're undead"

"Sodders." Xeinfro cursed under his breath as the yeti's fist connected with Munin, sending the small – in comparison – tiefling buckling back on his heels. The blade flashed a dark red before returning to its natural hue, as Xein heard the telepathic link from the blade echoing the back of his head.  
_"I have deciphered their weaknesses and immunities, lord Xeinfro." _Munin chimed. _"Brother Fugin is already being informed of such."_  
_"Aye! Let's kill us some dead yetis! Ha ha"_ Bellowed the other blade; Fugin, the more battle-adept one of the two.  
_"Aye, aye, jus' keep me alive ye twae, got i'"_ The tiefling replied through the link, before breaking it just in time to bring both blades up on the defensive, the yeti's fist pushing against his blades and sending the tiefling rolling back. If he remained in direct combat, he'd be killed, he knew, but perhaps there was another way to deal with the undead.

Out of the four, Anyadel was without a doubt the most calm. Even as three yetis came at him in a charge, blood-thirsty roars booming from their black features, the dunsylvan stood there patiently, hands simply dangling at his sides. Just as the yetis descended upon him with their massive forms, he was gone from sight, sending the yetis tumbling on top of each other. Scrambling the best as corpses could, the three fur-clad monsters shuffled to their feet, looking around stupidly. There was a sudden flash of blood-red and Anyadel was back in sight, standing beside the centre yeti, a long blade of sorts, thrice as long as the wielder himself, and its tip looking as if the rest of the sword had been broken off. The yeti groaned, its chest suddenly exploding open as its ribcage burst out, splattering black blood all over the pure snow.

Again the dunsylvan disappeared into his unnatural speed, soft flashes of red engulfing the remaining pair of yetis – before the two exploded into similar bloodshed, their limbs hacked off clean. He didn't drink their foul blood, it was beneath him, after all.

"Alright" Baldur growled, pushing himself to his feet effortlessly, his gaze fixed on his individual foe. "Let's deal with you undead trash, shall we" He could finish this in no time, he figured, but whenever he was in Faerûn, for some reason, he didn't want to overdo it. He'd spent countless years trying to remain hidden; blowing his cover with overwhelming attacks would be foolish by now.

Going with the only logical choice for an undead, he reached behind him, gripping his longsword, Dreampiercer, coolly. The yeti, blinded, had no chance to get at him at this distance. And so he drew the sword, a sparking of holy aura bursting from the sheath as magical friction developed between it and the blade, increasing more and more until a small explosion erupted from the sheath – the sword fully drawn, shimmering with silver and blue. The undead hunter obviously wasn't going to have time to perform any attacks that required time, however, as the explosion had drawn the unwanted attention of the yeti.

The undead creature charged him, a sickening gargle erupting from its molten and squashed features instead of a roar. The elf rolled to the side and out of the charging yeti's path. Having the yeti's back to him, Baldur leapt forward, Dreampiercer placed in front of him, as the sword plunged into the creature's back. The longsword burst into light, and the yeti shrieked in its gargled manner, its flesh beginning to burn and boil. The undead squirmed, trying to free itself from the holy blade, but only causing it to cut further around its back. The yeti burst into blueish flames before it stopped moving completely, its body slowly beginning to dissolve where it stood. 

The undead hunter pulled his blade free and made a motion with his hand, blessing the fallen creature so it would not rise again. He turned to see his fellow party members. Anyadel had sheathed his 'bushido' and was standing over a mass of yeti corpses, while Xeinfro was sitting in the snow, catching his breath next to a burning yeti. But where was Shads? Baldur bit his lip, looking around worried. Suddenly, another yeti, larger than the others, burst out of the snow. How it had managed to hide from them he had no idea, but the others – moreso Xeinfro than the calm Anyadel – were seemingly wondering the same from the looks on their faces. The huge yeti let off a loud roar and began lurching towards Baldur, the elf gripping his sword, crimson eyes fixed on the thing. Suddenly, the yeti stopped, a familiar purple mist blurting from the creature's head before it fell on its side, unmoving. The mist floated a little away from the yeti, before reshaping itself into a gaseous, feminine form. That form then took on skin, clothes and within a matter of a second, Shads was standing in front of the elf, a sly grin on her face. 

"You had me worried, dammit." The elf groaned, looking at her with relief. "Are you trying to take me to an early grave, woman"   
"No earlier than you would on your own." Shads replied, raising a brow at her husband's not-so calm reaction. "You act as if I've never been to battle before."  
The elf smiled. He was being overprotective, and altogether irrational. He let off a mirthful chuckle before putting his arms around his wife.  
"Sorry…" he whispered, nuzzling his cheek to hers and kissing. "Old habit of mine."

As much as he wanted to continue hugging her, however, the group had to keep moving he decided. Whatever was out there that had done this to the yetis, he knew, was still there.

The yetis had, predictably, failed. But that was no matter. They hadn't been sent after the group as a means of assassination anyway. On the contrary, he had sent them as a means to evaluate the situation. Miêles' kind had always been the intelligent sort, after all – always calculation the situation into their own favor. Another thing the inbred mongrel had nothing in common with his kin. Z'ar, however, was a perfect example of an eliêna: Ruthless, bloodthirsty and intellectually peerless, as well as sadistic beyond belief.

Z'ar had come far in the thousands of years he had been in exile to the darkest realms of the Abyss. Too far, in fact, to let the descendant of the one who had sent him to the damned place live and continue to sully the name of their race. The eliêna hissed as he watched. He'd test them a little further, see just how well the inbreed would do. After all, even if he was a shame to their race, there was always some use to be gained from worthless fools like him.


End file.
